


Gossamer Fate

by LadamaB



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Based on PutridVodka's AU on Tumblr, Coming of Age, Hidden AU, M/M, Slow Burn, but only kind of, i have permission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-03-26 03:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13848837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadamaB/pseuds/LadamaB
Summary: This is based off of the Hidden!AU Genyatta comic that PutridVodka is producing on Tumblr! I hope you enjoy____The weak man chooses pacifism because he has no other choice. The strong man chooses pacifism because he is strong. An AU in which Zenyatta joins Overwatch during the first watch with Mondatta. A young omnic still struggling with his own challenges, can he handle the extra stress heaped on by joining an organization devoted to peaceful violence?





	1. Kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PutridVodka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PutridVodka/gifts).



> Whoops, school interfered. I'm in the middle of remastering this fic and working on it. Ya girl has officially received her degree... which means I have a lot more time for this! Yaaay.

_“My religion is kindness.” - Dalai Lama_

 

 

Meditation was impossible on this helicopter.

The decision to come into Watchpoint: Gibraltar by chopper was simply a necessity. Without a hoverplane or a helicopter, the base was essentially inaccessible. They were flying in from Madrid after a 12 hour flight and one would think that omnics could not become fatigued; that wasn’t true. The very _soul_ of this place exhausted him. Against Mondatta’s better judgement and sound advice, Zenyatta had downloaded the history of Gibraltar before leaving and once again found himself wishing he had done as he was told. Perhaps it was just a trick of the burning sun setting in the west, bathing the limestone in crimson, but he could swear the very _air_ here was steeped in blood.

Since the classical era, these cliffs have stood witness to the most gruesome battles in history and now Overwatch attempted to bring peace from the shadow of millions of lives broken on the pillars of Hercules. There was a certain poetic irony in it: a bastion of peace abreast the _Mare Nostrum._ The pilot began a gentle roll, pulling them around to the mouth of the base cut directly into Europa Point and decreasing the yaw to start lining up their landing. 

Zenyatta felt his synthetic skin sweating lightly. The programming provided with the top-shelf skin allowed him to 'instinctively' chew on his lower lip and begin to shift around. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that as the omnic held onto the bare steel rib nearest to his seat, the suit even helpfully produced a white-knuckle effect as it sensed the amount of power in his grip. It could tell he was _scared._ There was more poetic irony in that, the omnic unnerved by the intelligence of a machine.

The bald-headed monk shifted again, rubbing the strange coating on his head as he began to move around and let pressure out of his over-polarized pneumatic joints. Causing them to hold a perfect locked position too long was bad for the seals and would cause him to require maintenance sooner. The last thing he wanted to do was spring a leak and start oozing mechanical oil through the pores of the skin. Zenyatta had been with the Shambali monks for nearly three years and he still wasn’t accustomed to being able to access a trained technician readily. Not only did he have a technician here at Overwatch, his _original designer_ was here. Regardless, the humans barely trusted them to begin with--if he began to sweat demonic ooze through his skin, he imagined they’d shoot first and ask questions after.

Even the nature of the Shambali being here seemed like a dream, a nightmare, or possibly a curse. The UN had leveraged their influence to hand select two monks to become the religious and spiritual counsel for those who didn’t have a kindred soul in the already existing colorful cast around base. They’d requested Mondatta and _him._

Why him? Zen had never been anything special. He was barely a monk. Barely _anything--_ he'd only been off the line for only a few months when The Crisis had hit. Tucked into a dark and secluded alcove of an unused subway line, a freshly minted OP-816 had powered down for what he assumed would be the last time as the continued assault of voices had broadcasted through his mind. _It_ had called, he had refused to answer. The chaos of Shanghai, fires and screams and the blood of innocents running like a river through the streets of the metropolis as the other Omnics became one with Shangti. Flames and corpses and _whispers_ that only he could resist. He couldn’t run, he could _barely_ fight, so he chose to power down with no promise that anyone would ever wake him up.

_‘Come to me, Zenyatta. Come, join your brethren. Rise up and spill blood in my name… Join us--’_

"Zenyatta.." A gentle voice called, a similarly synthetically skinned hand coming to rest on Zen's tanned shoulder, the one that wasn't covered in a golden sash, bringing him back to the present. It was so fascinating how these skins could pick up such subtle cues like the coolness of Mondatta's hands or the weight of the heavier-than-usual omnic skeleton contained inside. He allowed himself to focus rather on these small details than to let the pervasive memories seep into his consciousness.

His eyes flicked up; Sweet, almond shaped and settled beneath six cerulean spots on his forehead. Few people questioned the glowing marks that all the Shambali monks had, as if being a monk from the mountains was reason enough to defy the laws of human biology. He was thankful for their oblivious ignorance. "Yes, Master?"

"Worry not.." Mondatta’s gentle chide soothed Zenyatta’s invisible demons, his face at eternal ease as they swayed along with the helicopter making first contact with the tarmac. It was their internal gyroscopes functioning at their finest. The humans along for the ride surely assumed it was their unnatural monk ability to keep poised, however beneath the sweating, crying, _feeling_ skin laid an AI and a lot of spare parts.

Zenyatta looked down at his bare feet, gold painted toes peeking out from under his white linen pants and red sash. The feeling of worrying the fabrics together, provided by the new skin that the UN had forced them both to wear, was surprisingly soothing. This was just another step toward hiding what he was, _who_ he was, and accepting that humans needed to be lied to for Omnics to be safe. He didn't like it--Mondatta liked it even less--but right now it was dangerous for them to try and live in a base full of Crisis veterans without them. "I will try, Master. I aspire toward tranquility always."

"Aspire, my student, that is all anyone can ever ask of you. The Iris embraces us at our weakest even when we have nothing left to give." The older monk replied, offering him a gentle smile and pulling a golden bangle from his own wrist and offered it to the younger bot out of solidarity.

_‘Join us.’_

The skins could sweat, they could bleed, and, in rare instances like this, they could even cry. Zen would never get used to the feeling of artificial saline rolling down his cheeks; it reminded him that he should refill the reservoir or the skin would not lubricate properly. The Shambali monks had been the ones to find him nearly twenty years after he’d originally powered down. Mondatta’s faceplate had been the first thing seen his optics had fully processed and the man was his close friend and father figure. The person who had named him ‘Zenyatta’.

"Thank you master." Zenyatta bowed at the waist respectfully, pushing the bangle onto his wrist and rubbed his face as the airlock blew open with a loud _'woosh'._ His optics scrambled to adjust to the glare of the setting sun, struggling to increase their contrast until a pair of figures came into focus. They were standing just inside the darkness provided by the stone where the base was cut directly into the cliffs. His skin’s programming engaged and Zen’s left arm lifted to shield his eyes from the still circulating clouds of dust kicked up by the huge double rotors on the martial helicopter they’d just disembarked.

Two watched them, one about seven or eight centimeters taller than the other. A shock of bright blue hair; red eyes behind a mask. They both seemed to have some kind of branding on their shoulders that he just couldn’t make out from this angle and distance with the dust in the wind.The more he squinted to really focus on the pair, the more Zenyatta felt their positioning specifically out of the bounds of human sight was strategic… and he’d already outed himself by straining to see them.

“Hello, hello! Sorry!” Zen’s attention had only been diverted to the blond jogging up to them for a split second but when he turned back the pair of watchers were gone. “Sorry I’m late, I got caught in a call.” The blond man smiled, leaning on his knees as he caught his breath for a second before putting a hand out to Mondatta for a shake. Zenyatta wondered how long it would take this man to turn on them.

“Worry not,” Mondatta replied, smiling a bit wider so the eyes on his skin closed fully to match the way his faceplate usually appeared, “We have not been waiting long. Are you Strike Commander Morrison?” He asked, taking the hand politely and shook it. When it was offered to Zen, the smaller omnic stepped closer to Mondatta but returned the shake. His hand was surprisingly firm but not strong enough to roll the joints together like some handshakes.

“Yeah, that’s me. You can just call me Jack.” Morrison replied easily, not allowing Zen’s obvious unease to affect his sunny expression. He gestured with his clipboard toward the main portion of the base, using that motion to try and coax the pair of monks off the busy flight deck so that the helicopter could be serviced and sent back out. Zen gently pressed his fingers between his mentor’s shoulder blades to coax him into following after their apparent guide. The fear between them was nearly palpable but that didn’t mean they could afford to loiter here and cause a delay. The more compliant they were, the less likely people were to ask probing questions.

“Jack-ji,” Zenyatta’s called with a slightly tense timbre to his voice, watching for the blond to glance behind to ensure that they were both following. “We’ve had a long journey,” He said as the three of them passed beneath the shadow provided by that stone canopy. A quick glance around was all that was needed to ensure the watchers from before weren’t there as the neon-blue hair would be _immediately_ visible. “Is there any way we could postpone the grand tour until after we’ve had time to rest and unpack?”

It wasn’t as if they had much to unpack or even a large need for rest like humans had, but they’d both benefit from time to power down and restart their processes. The servos were overdue for a cooling period as well. Mondatta had a joint that leaked hydraulic fluid; Zen needed to refill it and ensure that the skin wasn’t leaking or damaged. Maintenance.  

“Oh yeah, I--” Jack cursed under his breath in a way that the pair of them shouldn’t have been able to hear but quickly fixed another hospitable smile on his face and altered his course to start for the dorms where the monks would be staying. “I completely forgot. It’s been a busy day.”

“That’s fine,” Mondatta chirped pleasantly, walking along at almost a glide--In fact Zenyatta realized it _was_ a glide. His master’s knee must have locked up. He continued pressing the other to guide his now hovering teacher behind Jack. It was lucky he was wearing long robes or the humans would have likely questioned the ability. “How are we so lucky to have you as our greeting?”

Mrs. Morrison hadn’t raised any kids dippy enough to not see that comment for exactly what it was: Zenyatta had already heard of him. Jack took it well enough in stride, smiling over his shoulder and then waved to the guard house beside the door so that it would be unlocked and opened. These large doors were a precaution against the huge storms that battered the Atlantic sea. Right here on the cusp of the Atlantic and Mediterranean, Gibraltar caught the brunt of both of them. _140mm of rain in November alone, on average._ Zen shook his head, setting a reminder to purge his databanks of that sort of needless knowledge later when he had more time to sift through it.

“The dorms are right through here. They asked me how we should accommodate you both and I, honestly, wasn’t sure.” Jack explained, taking out a keycard to open the door manually. “The first passcode is Mondatta’s birthday. It’ll then prompt you to make a new one.” He explained, sliding the keycard back into his long, blue jacket. “Once you’re both situated, consider maybe coming out for dinner? I know there are a lot of people who are very excited to meet you.”

The ‘birthday’ was likely to be Mondatta’s minted production date. Zenyatta gently pushed the floating monk through the door and dropped into a quick half bow before rising back to full height. The American was an imposing 6’1”, according to the biography available on the PR page of the Overwatch website. As one of the major figures, he had an entire webpage dedicated just to himself as if he were some kind of superhero.

_6’1”, 73 inches, 185.42 cm. Jack Morrison: Omnic Crisis veteran, SEP program, prefers Heavy Pulse Rifle and Sonic Missiles. Hometown: Bloomington, Indiana, USA. Projected Weaknesses: Close range agility, Immobilization, Knees._

Honestly, the fact that Americans were still hanging onto imperial measurement after all this time was astounding. “I will consult Mondatta after we have both had time to rest. I imagine that dinner won’t be a problem, though we do usually eat in our quarters at the monastery.” Mondatta wouldn’t have had the heart to lie; Zenyatta didn’t have the heart to get them both killed. That little voice that helpfully reminded him he wasn’t _actually_ a monk was squashed with great prejudice

“Oh,” Jack’s smile faltered a bit and he fiddled with the lapel on his long jacket, “Is that some kind of religious thing?”

“Something like that.” Another white lie; another tarnish on his already non-existent honor.

“Oh well, I can send somebody to deliver your food. It’s not that big of a deal, I’m sure Lena would love to do it.” Morrison seemed more than willing to volunteer his subordinates.

“I appreciate the accommodation,” Zenyatta’s attention was stolen back inside as Mondatta quite literally dropped all of his steel-chassis onto the bed and caused it to groan and creak in protest. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Wha--” Jack stepped back a bit in surprise as the door was closed quickly in his face without even giving him the opportunity to respond. He finally allowed the cheerful smile to melt off his features. Honestly, his face actually hurt some from maintaining it for so long. Morrison worked his jaw, rubbing the muscles as he turned to walk down the hall toward the elevator to take him up to the offices.

“What do you think?” One of these days, Gabe was going to scare him directly out of his skin. It was almost as if he just metamorphosed directly out of the shadows and into being.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what to think.” Jack frowned, watching Gabe push himself off of the wall he’d been leaning against and start to walk beside him. “I didn’t really even talk to them that much. They just got off a 14 hour journey and they wanted to rest… I can’t even say as I blame them but now thanks to your stupid idea, I look like an idiot.”

Gabe got these little crinkles beside his eyes when he was truly amused by something, a side-effect of time and age, and they were on full display now. “You’ve legitimately forgotten about travel time before. It wasn’t even my idea, it was Ana.”

Jack uncrossed his arm and pressed the clipboard into Gabe’s chest with an unamused frown. “Name one time that I’ve done that.”

“Aw, _Capo,”_ Gabe grinned, doing his best impression of a Newark accent, “Ain’cha got any sympathy? I been on a plane fer 10 hours ‘n youse guys ‘r just gonna--”

“Alright, alright, _enough.”_ Jack grumbled, shoulder checking the Blackwatch Commander with enough power that he had to fight to right himself before he became intimately acquainted with the wall. “So I forgot Max. That’s once. You’re terrible at that accent, by the way. Just so you know, don’t ever--”

_“Evah.”_

_“--ever_ do that again. _Particularly_ near Max. He’ll shit a kitten.” Morrison finished, finding himself smiling despite himself at the terrible mimicking of their resident hacker. The accent didn’t show up unless he already knew you pretty well but when it did, it came on thick. Nearly worse than McCree’s and that was really _sayin’ somethin’._ Jack winced and looked over as Gabe began to laugh loudly into both hands.

“You thought something in his voice, didn’t you?” Gabe cackled, returning the shoulder check as they stopped to wait for an elevator. “You think it’s bad for you? I have to listen to him in my ear on missions all the time. You’ve never had him swear your mother into an early grave in Italian yet. That’s a fucking riot.”

“Sometimes I really worry about you.” Jack chuckled, conceding defeat as the elevator doors opened with a cheerful ‘ding!’

“Only sometimes?” Gabe asked, waiting for them both to get in the elevator and the doors to shut before he reached out to snag Jack’s hand in his.

“Only sometimes. The rest of the time I worry about the people who have to deal with you; chiefly _me.”_

“Ay _bebito_ , you married me. You brought this on yourself.”


	2. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long, friends. I finished my associates and it's been hectic but I'm finally able to work on this~!

Zenyatta sagged against the door, leaning as he closed his eyes for a moment or two to try and calm his over-stressed internal processors. The fans designed to keep his systems cool weren’t completely compatible with the saline-tubing coolant directors that were standard as a part of the skin. When he became scared, they would turn on at high speed--to no avail as the new skin completely sealed him from taking in outside air save for ‘breathing--and he assumed this must be how a human experienced a panic attack. It was a preparation for flight that would never be acted upon though his systems geared up regardless, not unlike the maimed fight or flight response that fueled mental breakdowns in their fleshy counterparts.

A noise from the bed like a hissing caught his attention and he realized that Mondatta had unlocked from his sitting position and was now laying slumped over on the bed. The internal alerts that were  _ so sure _ he was going to overheat, even though his central processors were relaying that the saline coolant circulators were working just fine, would just have to wait.

He moved over to the bed, hands hovering just over the bunched white robes before deciding to pull Mondatta up to lay on the pillow. Zenyatta shifted the other omnic’s legs around until he was resting easily with another pillow propped up under the leg that tended to leak fluid.

“Zen,” Mondatta’s voice startled the other omnic, causing him to look up suddenly from where he’d been opening up the skin to access the leaking knee.

“Yes, master?” Zenyatta asked, standing from the bed to gather up one of their suitcases and retrieve a cylinder and pump to fill the knee with the viscous purple fluid that would keep it well lubricated and moving properly.

“Thank you for what you have done.”

Zenyatta paused halfway through where he was opening up the pump, looking up at Mondatta with a curious expression. What had he done that was worthy of thanking? He had lied to the humans. Yes, it had been to keep them both safe, but it was against the Shambali way to lie to anyone.

Suddenly he wanted to look anywhere except at Mondatta, averting his eyes to the rest of the, admittedly, spacious rooms they had been given. When he’d been told that he would be living in a dormitory, Zen had expected something like the dorms they had back in the mountains of Nepal. He hadn’t expected  _ this. _

The rooms were decorated in rich textiles and bright colors along with framed paintings of traditional Newa buildings that reminded him of home. Though it was only one room, two beds on opposite walls with privacy curtains tied back with tassels for their convenience, it seemed opulent and far too much for a pair of monks.

By this point, Zenyatta was finishing his duties with Mondatta’s knee on a sort of autopilot; the motions were queued up but not being consciously performed by his main processors. Whoever had decorated this had done a good job. There were a few things here and there that seemed odd--a jeweled elephant on one counter, a golden egg in the center of the main table to name a few--but all in all it was beautiful here.

“Do you like it?” A synthetic female voice asked. Zenyatta rose to his feet and spun around to try and decide the source of the voice before realizing it must be the central AI for the base.

“Yes, it is quite nice.” He responded, uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite place. Zenyatta felt like he’d been on guard for so long that he’d never relax again.

“Good. I’m glad it meets expectations. I am Athena. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask me. It is my designation to cater to any and all needs. Will you be needing more hydraulic fluid?”

It was against the Shambali creed to curse; what a  _ shame. _ “I--” His voice faltered as his fans engaged again and it was strong enough the skin registered the frantic spinning. Was this what humans felt when their hearts beat too strongly? “If you can… procure hydraulic fluid without it being too much of a hassle… We would appreciate that as well as your  _ discretion _ Athena-ji.” The skin insisted he make a swallowing motion to reveal his anxious stumblings. Zenyatta felt now, more than ever, that they were fleshy prisons meant to make them transparent rather than ‘protect’ them.

“I can program our ARM-23 to place them in your weekly care packages rather than food stuffs.” Athena chimed helpfully. She seemed to be completely nonplussed by their omnic origins rather than causing a scene. “Is there any other maintenance issues you need addressed?”

“No,” Zen chose his words carefully, “but I would like to ask you if our records show our being omnics.”

“They do not, would you like me to amend the record for you?” Athena asked. The longer she spoke, the more comfortable Zenyatta felt around her. She seemed to be a post-crisis low protocol aid AI which meant that she wouldn’t be relaying this information unless he managed to trip one of her protection sensors with his phrasing or he asked her to relay the information.

“No. It isn’t necessary. The UN asked that we present as human to soothe the others who work here. Even though the God Programs have been neutralized, many of the veterans here are still distrusting of our kind.” Zenyatta smiled tightly, rewrapping the skin around Mondatta’s knee and then covering him with a blanket. It seemed he had powered down for rest some time before Athena had begun speaking.

“It is prudent to keep the mental stability of humanity relevant in every equation.” Athena agreed with him, “It wouldn’t do for them to become panicked.”

Zenyatta nodded, moving toward the other bed so that he could begin wiping down the bottoms of his feet with wipes provided on his side table. “I’m glad you understand. I wish we didn’t have to.”

“So long as humanity exists it will fear what it does not understand. I too wish omnics did not need to hide.”

“Athena, can you turn out the lights?”

“Of course.” Existence was mysterious. Zenyatta could not help but wonder if some of the unrelated side alerts his processors provided to him could be considered a ‘gut feeling.’


	3. Panic

_ S.L.E.E.P disengaged. Systems Online: Powering up in 3...2...1…. _

Zenyatta’s eyes snapped open as he lurched up into a sitting position, manifesting orbs that spun to look for the threat. There was a knocking, the audio trigger that had caused his resting protocols to turn off and subsequently engaged his base programming to seek and destroy the threat. The skin took it upon itself to swallow and break out in a cold sweat and he pushed himself off the bed.

Omnics, as a ‘species’ were misunderstood. They were people with memory and emotion and if that emotion came on wires in ones and zeroes did that make it any less legitimate than synapses firing on and off? Did a databank with perfect recall but limited storage make that big of a difference as compared to gray matter with equally limited storage?

Certain files were locked and could not be discarded.

The knocking persisted and Zen moved to his feet before walking to the door and opening it hesitantly to a cheerful brunette in a brown leather bomber jacket.

“‘Ello, luv!” She greeted, waving and bouncing on the toes of her feet. Zen couldn’t help wondering where she’d rather be than here, with the way energy nearly oozed off her. Perhaps the human was truly that excited to meet them?

“Hello,” He greeted and bobbed his head in a greeting before turning to help Mondatta up. His brother was already awake and swinging his legs over the side of the bed when Zen turned around but the younger omnic rushed to his side and began to fasten sandals onto the tanned synthetic feet. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lena Oxton,” She thrust her hand out to the monk and stood there while he debated whether or not to take it.

“Tekhartha Zenyatta.” He took her hand and gave it a shake, surprised by the strength in the handshake. For such a small woman, Lena seemed to be rather powerful. “What do you do?”

“I’m one of the new pilots. Right now I’m interning with Overwatch to learn the ropes but I’m supposed to run air support in the new slipstream jets. I’m bloody excited, they’re the fastest jets to ever be made. Some even say they’ve got the capability to break the space-time continuum!”

Zen’s lips quirked up as he realized he must have accidentally stumbled into something she was passionate about. There was no shame in that. A familiar hand settled onto his shoulder from behind as Mondatta finished gathering himself and stood there just behind Zen.

“I’m sure you’ll be very successful in anything you do.” Mondatta intoned from his place, bobbing his head to her. To Lena’s credit, she seemed humble enough about her successes despite such an impressive posting.

“I hope so! That’s enough blubbering about me. Come on, luvs. Let’s get you both shown around so you can eat.” Lena spun on her heel and began to stride off toward the outside hall.

Both of the monks glanced at each other and twisted their lips up in a matching smile before heading out behind their energetic guide. Neither of them were capable of moving as fast as Lena could, not with her exuberance and clearly athletic build. They moved at a set speed and it wasn’t much better than the average human unless they ran and Mondatta’s faulty knee would never tolerate running.

“The first place we’re going to be heading to is the supply depot, that’s where you’re closest to.” Lena commented lightly, passing out through the doors from the main dormitory buildings to the large internal portion of the hangar. “Certain portions out here are off limits if you’re not apart of the military division working from that area--for example those doors there head down to the Strike Team headed up by Commander Reyes,” Their guide made a passing motion to a pair of black painted doors that looked inconspicuous. If she hadn’t pointed them out, Zen would have just assumed it was a maintenance corridor.

“Where will we be stationed?” Zenyatta asked, perking up as he noticed the pair of black doors opening just enough for a tall brunette slipping through them. From beneath the brim of the hat a glowing ember from a lit cigar could be seen. He gave them nothing but a polite nod while pulling on the hat to tuck it further over his eyes before jamming his hands further into his pockets and walking in the opposite direction.

“You’ll both be up in the offices. Most of the chaplains are stationed by the administrative and other counselors.” Cadet Oxton explained, walking over to where the large plane that usually flew the most visible strike team out to areas of need. It was sleek, seamlessly painted and sporting the Overwatch branding on both the side of the bird and its rear foils.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to be stationed somewhere easily accessible? If we are to counsel the soldiers, placing us beside their superiors may discourage them from utilizing our services… Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?” Mondatta pointed this out as his eyes caught on a crate full of engine oil.

“Well,” Lena’s smile became significantly more tense than before and she gave a futile shrug in their direction. “I suppose it would.”

The U.N. had been very clear that if they weren’t deemed a necessity then the Shambali would lose their international protective sanctions.

“It’s alright, Mondatta. I’m sure we can walk around the base and speak to people.” Zen attempted to soothe his mentor, placing a hand on his back.

“Well, funny that--” Lena turned so she was walking backwards while guiding them through the hangar and up to the next floor where Medical was based. “--you’re really supposed to stay in your offices. The guys get a little prickly if they think the preachers are out forcing people to listen to their ‘drivel’. Their words, not mine.”

Zenyatta grit his teeth and chose his next words carefully, waiting as Lena called for an elevator so Mondatta wouldn’t be forced to climb an excess of stairs. “If we aren’t supposed to go out and introduce ourselves to people and we are sequestered away from the general population, how are we meant to earn our keep?”

“I suppose maybe they could put out a bulletin on the internal servers?” She suggested with an airy smile. “They told me to make sure you both stay in your offices, luv.”

“Why is that?” This time it was Mondatta who was forced to speak. The mentor still had an airy tone of voice, mostly unaffected by all of this in direct contrast to Zenyatta’s barely restrained annoyance, but it seemed even Mondatta couldn’t ignore the apparent sabotage. Did Overwatch know what would happen to the rest of the Shambali if they were deemed unnecessary?

“I don’t know, luv. Jack just said something about keeping you both close to him. Something about something that happened in China a few weeks ago.” For her part, Lena also seemed genuinely confused.

Zenyatta felt his fans beginning to whir back into overdrive, the rattling inside his chest as they fought to cool an already temperature controlled system. His internal sensors alerted him that he was getting too cold for some of his synthetic systems to remain ‘human-like.’ The way his synthetic lips began to turn purple was the least of his concerns as the crashing realization that Overwatch  _ knew _ about China and they were going to punish the Shambali for his mistakes--

“Zenyatta? Zenyatta? Is he ok? Blimey, why is he turnin’ that color?!” Lena’s voice filtered through the rushing sound of coolant in his ears and the frantic alarms echoing just behind his open but unseeing eyes.

“It’s fine, allow him to calm down.” Mondatta’s voice called as he cradled Zen from the ground and when had he ended up down here? Zen couldn’t even remember falling much less being plucked back up.

“Wit’ all due respect, that isn’t ‘fine’. I’m going to go get a bloody doctor, your friend is turnin’ blue.”

“He will be alright if you give him time,” but her feet had already sprinted down the hall to the nearby Medical wing and Mondatta was left holding Zenyatta’s over-cooled body in his arms. “I fear when the doctors come to care for you we will have a fair amount more problems. Iris protect us both.”

_ Iris protect us both. _

He’d felt it. Once, a long time before as he’d woken from his original slumber, Zenyatta had felt the Iris on his synthetic soul. It had been warm and welcoming; it had known his name. Long before he had been anything other than just another Omnic with a serial number and a past, the Iris had embraced him as one of its own.

Mondatta’s fingers slid over his face, forcing the still-open lids to close and the warmth from his skinned hand nearly burned Zenyatta’s cold skin but he could feel a radiating heat blooming in his chest. He had no idea how long he’d been laying there on that floor, waiting for the rest of the world to crash in on him before that heat spread and unfurled to completely encase them there on the cement floor.

_ Become one with the Iris; Embrace Tranquility. _

It was almost as if his audio sensors were plugged with some kind of cotton, not fully unpacked from their original packaging and thus hearing the footsteps of the medical team through a layer or two of plastics and fluff.

His world radically spun into focus as the first set of truly human hands found their way to his bare shoulders. Whatever muffling had kept him from truly quantifying the stimuli from his sensory nodes was ripped back like prying open the chest plate on his torso without first disconnecting the internal wiring.

Zenyatta opened his eyes--when had he ever closed them?--and was assaulted by the white glow of Angela Zeigler’s penlight trying to check his pupils for a reaction.  

“I am quite alright. Do not fear.” Zen mumbled, trying to push the frenzied doctor away. Color was returning to his face and he noticed a tall, redheaded woman with mismatched eyes watching them curiously.

“That is fascinating. What other symptoms did you experience before this sudden and drastic cooling spell?” The tall doctor asked. Zen had recognized Angela by her online works in the field of revitalization sciences. She could take someone from the brink of death and heal them with such success that they were very nearly resurrected. It was quite astounding.

This other woman, however, he had no knowledge of whatsoever regardless of which databases he searched for answers. “I do not know what you wish for me to tell you. Who are you?” The Monk asked, slowly returning to his feet and brushed off the back of his robes where he had fallen to the ground.

“Moira O’Deorain.” The redhead introduced herself, once again thrusting a hand into Zen’s face and making him wish there were more east asians working here and less westerners. Their collective fascination with handshakes was unnerving; he shook the hand regardless.

He did not get to simply pull his hand back. The doctor ran one of the long nails from her right hand over his, using her left to keep him locked in place and--surely enough as if she already knew what she had been looking for--her nail caught on the edge of his synthetic skin and caused a discoloration as the seam began to appear.

She  _ knew. _

Zenyatta ripped his hand back and stared up at the woman; the way she smirked with pride at unearthing his secret sent his wiring crawling with an unknown sensation. The last time he’d felt this kind of fear, he had looked Shangti in the eye and said  _ no. _

“Fascinating. I must learn more about you. Why don’t you come down to my lab sometime?” Moira asked, a faux charm oozing out of her though it made him feel no better. If anything, it made him feel worse.

“I’m afraid I must decline your invitation.” Zen spoke, words tight as he pasted a smile on his face that fooled exactly no one.

Moira opened her mouth but she was interrupted as Angela stepped between them. “I apologize for my coworkers lack of tact; she is rude to a fault.” The doctor, who had been nicknamed ‘Mercy’ by the news outlets, smiled brightly and began to lead them both with a wave of one arm toward her office. “Disregard this and all future offers. I’m sure Moira will cause you no further inconveniences.”

Zen had a feeling that inconveniences were the least of his concern with Moira O’Deorain. “Yes, I’m certain.”

“If you would like,” Angela chirped, all sunny smiles and easy charisma, “I would love to show you around the medical wing.”

“I am something of a healer myself. Please, I’d love to see your work.” Especially if it got him away from  _ her. _


	4. Laughter

Children of Bodom was not the kind of music he had expected when Angela opened the airlocked door to her office tucked into a rarely visited corner of the medical wing. Zen couldn’t tell you what he had been expecting, maybe classical, but not  _ this. _ The heavy metal had thrown Zen through a loop as the blond doctor walked to her desk and unearthed a mouse from a pile of coffee-stained papers long enough to turn it off but not before he’d managed to match it to a band and album; If you want peace, prepare for war,  _ indeed. _

“I’m sorry if it’s kind of a disaster--” Angela smiled tightly as she picked up a pile of files that had fallen askew from their original tower to lay all across her desk. The entire office seemed to be as polarized from the  antisepticized medical ward as possible. The side table beside her guest chair boasted a long stained coffee cup precariously balanced on a coaster and thin air almost as if once the main desk had become too full she had moved to the other side of the room rather than slow down to clean. She pushed it back onto the questionably constructed table with her hip on the way by, unfazed by the way the three-legged abomination swayed dangerously with the motion.

“You look busy.” Zen commented, helping Mondatta to a nearby loveseat that Angela was frantically attempting to empty of its numerous lab-coats and assorted office supplies.

“It’s… always a bit hectic here at Overwatch.” She smiled, giving a bit of a shrug as she did as if trying to give off an air of nonchalance and achieving something halfway between nervous and constipated. “Between the research I’ve been putting into the Caduceus system along with the newest modifications to the Valkyrie mode on my suit, and Overwatch’s obligatory advances in medical science for terminal diseases--” She stopped as she watched their eyes glaze over, “It’s a lot. Cancer can’t just be  _ cured,  _ every cancer is unique to the human that has it. We place them into as specific a category as possible but at the end of the day it’s a mutated strand of DNA. It exists in that singular human and  _ only _ them!  _ Technically _ every human ‘catches’ cancer millions of times a day, it just doesn’t take.”

This wasn’t quite the conversation that Zen had thought he’d be having when he headed up to the Medical Ward today. He glanced around the office, eyes skirting past a still steaming cup-noodle and the air-quoting doctor who had launched into another rant about the unrealistic expectations of the United Nations when their real resources needed to be spent ensuring that the rising tensions between humans and omnics didn’t hit a boiling point.

“...furthermore, King’s Row is nothing more than a glorified ghetto for yet another marginalized group and  _ not _ a valid method of containing unrest any more than a quarantine will contain an outbreak of  _ suicide.” _ Angela cut herself off as she plucked up the cup from it’s shaky platform and shoved it under an ancient Keurig before replacing the coffee cartridge as if it had personally wronged her at some point in the past. “I’m sorry, I doubt this is what you came to my office to hear about. I’ve just-- Well, I’ve had 20 cups of coffee in the last 24 hours and I can’t remember the last time I slept longer than an hour and a half.”

“When is the last time you ate, Dr. Zeigler?” Mondatta asked, striking a tone that was somehow more concerned than usual. “And Cup Noodles do not count.”

“I-- uuhh…” Angela colored near the top of her cheeks, and coughed into her hand while feigning a sudden and intense interest in the contents of her already empty cup. “It’s… been a second or two.” She laughed, waving a hand as if to bat away the subject like an irritating bug rather than an actual issue. Zen couldn’t help but wonder at the hypocrisy that was a doctor who could barely take care of herself. Perhaps she just had her hands in too many pies?

“But enough about me,” ‘Mercy’ smiled and sat down in her chair, rolling it out from behind the piled up desk so she could actually look at them. “Let’s talk about the pair of you. I’m honored to meet you, Mondatta. You’re an inspiration to pacifists everywhere and, well… _You,”_  

Zen had a feeling he knew where this was going. 

“Well, Zen… After that footage I saw from Shanghai? You’re putting the fist back into pacifist.” She looked impressed. A true pacifist shouldn’t look impressed; they should be horrified. Nothing about this place made any logical sense.

“I would rather we did not discuss this.” Zenyatta pursed his lips as he looked down to inspect his feet. That toenail had a chip in the gold polish that was not there before and  _ curse _ this skin for being so responsive. The advanced sensory interface allowed him to feel the change in coloration over his nose as it announced his embarrassment.

“Why? What you did--”

Zenyatta’s head snapped up and he lashed out before it could be stopped, “What I  _ did _ was a dark spot on the Shambali and it is not something to be praised for any reason.”

Mondatta’s perpetually cool hand came to rest on his arm and the older monk gently murmured his name. The red coloring over his face had moved as far as his ears and upper chest. “Do not scold her, she means no harm.”

“It is harmful whether she means it or not. If she knows about Shanghai then she knows about… us. She knows that there are those who would harm us. It is my job to protect you, master.” Zenyatta’s skin had stretched into a deep frown that felt almost unnatural on his faceplate but it was a direct reflection of how he felt. Or… how his AI believed it should feel.

“Do not ruminate so deeply my student.” Mondatta murmured, squeezing his arm, “If you are not careful you will plant a seed of hatred cultivated from the hearts of men.”

It was almost as if Mondatta could read his thoughts. Zen would never get used to that.

“If it makes it any better,” Angela interjected nervously and it was obvious that at least a quarter of her jittery behavior was from the way she overworked that poor machine in the corner, “I don’t believe Moira hates Omnics. I could tell she scared you earlier but she’s fascinated by Omnics. I don’t believe she hates them though.”

“She was willing to expose us in a base full of veterans of the Crisis. Whether or not she hates Omnics is not even half the issue. She is dangerous.” Zenyatta’s frown only became progressively deeper and deeper. He had a ‘gut feeling’ that her obsession with Omnics was far more than an overzealous appreciation.

“Life finds a way.” Angela murmured to herself and sat down her coffee while rubbing her fingers together. To an average human she might have appeared anxious but Zenyatta was an Omnic. He could see the full-body tremors of hypoglycemia. Their largest concern regarding going to the cafeteria had always been that the healthcare workers would catch on to what they were but if they clearly already knew then there was no reason to avoid it any longer.

“Angela,” Mondatta rose from the chair to his full height and tucked his hands into the long sleeves attached to his robe. “Perhaps you could guide us to the cafeteria.”

“Of course… but… why?” She was rightfully confused to wonder why a pair of Omnic monks would want anything to do with eating. They weren’t exactly in danger of starving to death.

“I wish to see you eat a proper meal.” Mondatta chuckled, gliding toward her and offered her one of his elbows.

This time, it was Angela’s turn to color over her nose. The young doctor took the offered elbow, along with a few moments besides to compose herself, before giving him a nod. “I believe a proper meal is long overdue, even if the food in our cafeteria can only barely be considered thus.”

There was a strange sensation in his chest that came in tandem with the bubbling noises that escaped his mouth. It was so foreign to a protection bot that Zenyatta had to stop and assess exactly what was happening. He was laughing.

_ 5’7”, 67 inch., 170.18 cm. Dr. Angela Ziegler, M.D., Ph.D: Combat Medic, International Advocate for Peace, Innovator of Battlefield Nanotechnologies. Nationality: Swiss. Projected Weakness: Orb to the Face. _

xx

When most of the people were behind doors or on other floors it was easy to forget the magnitude of a base this size and the sheer amount of people stationed here. Zen’s sensors registered an uptick in heat as they stepped into the bustling cafeteria. The room was six or eight times the size of the dining hall in the monastery and it was packed wall to wall with people moving from the various counters to tables that were being continuously bussed by robots that were clearly running a set program rather than what might be considered an ‘omnic. That didn’t soothe Zen in the least; he would have hoped to see a few omnics here if nowhere else.

After the Crisis had ended, the ‘bots’ had been relegated to the jobs that humans didn’t want to do themselves. Usually, if nowhere else, they could be found in the food service or janitorial work. Wherever was too dangerous, too disgusting, or too menial for humans one could find an Omnic filling a slot. They had no position in the higher places of society all because of a war they didn’t even start.

It was an old hatred, one he’d never been able to fully kick from his time hiding in that Chinese subway. The humans hated them for something they couldn’t control. Omnics didn’t start the Crisis; Omnics were as much victims of the God Programs as anyone else.

He shook his head and followed Angela through the packed tables toward two men sitting at a table with an obviously uncomfortable cadet. While they were both blond, that was about where the similarities ended; one of the men was head and shoulders--and part of his chest too--taller than the rest of the people around him and the other was lucky to come up to Zen’s shoulder if that.

“You oughta have my wife’s korv stroganoff--” The shorter blond announced through the food he was shoveling into his mouth, “It’s the most delicious thing ever. Ten times better than anything you’re gonna find here.”

“It’s true!” The tall blond announced loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear him, though most seemed to be ignoring it. He was also shoveling food into his face and did a damn good job hitting the mark considering one of his eyes was heavily scarred and might not even work.

“She makes the best falukorv! She stuffs her own and then cooks it with apples--” The small blond continued, stopping to chug down large gulps of his bottled beer halfway through the conversation. Alcohol had been strictly stated in the code of conduct that it was not allowed. “--and it’s so much better than anything you’d get here.”

“Oooh! That makes me crave bratwurst and sauerkraut!” The tall blond agreed heartily, talking through a half-masticated bit of indiscernible cafeteria slop. For as much as they spoke of better food, it didn’t seem to be slowing them down any.

Angela cleared her throat into her hand, giving the poor cadet an excuse to slip away from conversation. It seemed as if he’d been trapped there for a considerable amount of time and if the not-dwarf had his way then the new recruit would’ve been trapped there for even longer.

“Angela!” The giant called to them as they got close, standing up to be  _ even taller _ and waving.

“Reinhardt!” She returned easily, smiling placatingly as he plucked her up into a bone-crushing hug before placing the doctor back on her own two feet. “These are the new monks. Meet Mondatta and Zenyatta.” She introduced, gesturing to each of them in turn with their names.

Zenyatta wasn’t prepared for the way his sensors sounded in alarm when he was pulled into a hug along with Mondatta. Surely this man couldn’t possibly be human?

“It is good to meet you!” Reinhardt boomed, voice carrying even over the dozens of conversations floating through the cafeteria. “I am Reinhardt Wilhelm and this is Torbjörn Lindholm, my friend! Torbjörn, say hello!”

“Hej!” Torb greeted with the same warmth as his German companion; the two of them were quite the pair. Zenyatta suddenly registered how  _ warm _ it was in here--this man had designed him. He was, quite literally, meeting his maker.

Mondatta chuckled, deftly removing himself from the hug and sitting at an open seat so he could smile serenely at the two of them. Zenyatta wished he two could be as easily contented as his master but he  _ dared _ one of them to touch him again--

“Zenyatta and I have been tasked with the spiritual guidance for those members of Overwatch who do not find solace in the chaplains already provided.” Mondatta explained, launching Reinhardt into an entire monologue about what he and Torbjörn did here. “Is there anything we might do for you?”

“Got any sacramental wine?” Torb asked, grinning through the crumbs in his whiskers. Zenyatta laughed despite himself.

“I do not believe we are meant to help you skirt the rules.” Zen chastised gently, finding the joke amusing however blasphemous.

“Besides,” Mondatta piped up, “I do not believe sacramental wine is alcoholic. Perhaps you should convert to another faith?”

Ah, there it was. Zen grinned into one hand, shaking his head as Mondatta showed his true colors. It was easy to forget, between the easy smiles and the gentle demeanor, that Mondatta had quite the quick tongue.

Angela had wandered past the emptying cafeteria toward the line to pick up some food before it closed amid a host of comms chirping out. Zen had noticed a posted hours sign on the way in that stated it wouldn’t be open much longer and he imagined the people hurrying out had work to return to.

“Perhaps I should!” Torbjörn agreed and stood up after checking his messages. He too had received a chirp. A frown flickered over his features but was quickly plastered over with the same smile as before. “I have work to return to, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Inspires confidence, doesn’t he?” Angela teased as she returned with an apple and a bowl of the house soup. It appeared to be some brand of mass produced Minestrone. 

“Yes, he is a character, to be certain.” Mondatta returned her mirth, waving goodbye to the two blond men. Torbjörn had taken Reinhardt by the sleeve and so they were both headed toward the tray return. 

The doctor and the older monk spoke easily amongst themselves but Zen lost the words as his processes began to really start recognizing the room around him. It seemed odd that, even though the cafeteria wasn’t meant to close for another 30 minutes, it was emptying out so quickly. The women manning the food line had even vanished from behind the counter. 

That seemed weird. 

It had gone from packed wall to wall with personnel to absolutely barren.

“Angela,” Zen cut through their conversation and looked at the doctor as she blew on her soup. “Where is your comm?”

“Mine?” She shrugged, stirring the soup and blowing on it again, “I left it in the lab on the charger. It was almost dead.”

It was as if every alarm Zenyatta possessed all went off at once. “We need to go.” He stated, standing up and almost hauling Mondatta to his feet. Something was very  _ very _ wrong and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

“Where are you going? What’s the matter? What--” Angela’s confused voice was cut off by a fleet of drones flying through the front door.


	5. Hiatus

Alright y'all, you know I love you but I'm getting a bit in over my head here. 

 

Between my two other major works and this, bouncing my mind around is just so difficult. I'm also working to pursue my Bachelor's degree and this story has some emotions linked to it that I'm having trouble working through. 

If I get enough interest, I might get back to it, but for now its on an indefinite hiatus. 

Thank you for your understanding, 

Ladie

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? If you did, leave a comment and a kudos <3 Come visit me on Tumblr! I love to hear from you guys!


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